Black Licorice
by krazysmiles
Summary: Optimism is the madness of insisting all is well through misery. Hoping is the madness of waiting for it to get better. Crane thought it was going to get better. He hoped the sensations Sarah Denson created would end his wait. But she didn't; she left. For Crane madness was the only thing he had left to cradle his fall into the sickly sweet darkness of warped obligations.


"Crack", Crane fell to the ground in a twisted heap of spindly limbs as his hands scraped against the linoleum floors. The books that had once been in his hands were now splayed in disarray across the floor. Titles, pages and words, scattered.

"It looks like scarecrow isn't too talkative." The bully was Bo Griggs, a male of wide standing charisma. He had lived all his life comfortably unchallenged due to his large size. His father was a military man, and Bo had consequently been moved around all his life never knowing stability. Bo and his family had finally settled in Georgia. Crane wished he hadn't.

Bo's hair was well-combed and dark. His chest was wide and his thighs thick. He was a behemoth, having every trait that a grand football player should have in physical stature. "I don't enjoy doing this everyday, so can you please just get this over with." Crane bit out in a cold voice as he pulled himself from the floor to his feet. He hated facing his shortcomings. They became all too evident when sized up aside the popular, the strong, although they were usually the less intelligent.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" he questioned as he narrowed his watering icy blue eyes at his tormentors. Crane hated it when his eyes showed emotion. It showed weakness. It was showing a window of opportunity, of plain emotion, a moment in which candor was dangerous. He hated bullies; they made him reveal that weakness. They made him feel things he hated. The black bubbling sensation of knowing he was not free, knowing absolute isolation with dissatisfied familiarity.

"It looks like the Scarecrow's going to cry." A voice taunted from behind. This boy was Ricky Martin, a thinner but well muscled farm boy that lived with a single father who drank more than he worked. Ricky had large arms and lean legs. His hair was not combed, lightly brown in color. His teeth were crooked and his skin was dry and scaly. His eyes were playful, dark, and joyful. This was his favorite game.

Crane spun his thin frame around in surprise at the additional bully. He began to feel as though the yellow tile walls around him were narrowing, that his world was turning grayer. "I hate you." Crane whispered, his eyes squinting, his fists clenching tightly.

He was knocked onto the ground by a fist. His head swirled with painful colorless black and white spots as he forced his shaking legs to stand. A red liquid fell onto the yellow tiles staining the linoleum floor. Crane thought the color would have been prettier had it come raining out of his two assailants. Crane's hand rose to wipe away the blood that was now dribbling from his nose and lips. Red always seemed such a contrast to yellow linoleum flooring.

"I don't care what you think. You don't have the right to say whatever you want about us." Bo forced out. His face was red and angry. The other face was stretched, mirthful, eyes too joyful.

"No he sure doesn't." Ricky clamped his large hands onto Jonathan's narrow shoulders eyes still smiling.

Jonathan found the light joy in those eyes strangely illuminating. He could see his pain reflected and he could hear the bully's laughter mixing into another's laugh; it reminded him of a laugh he might have. Something inside him wanted to laugh at this weakness too. It was funny. Yet still Jonathan's eyes held nothing but cold blue hatred, an unstated promise to return that laughter.

The black haired jock in front balled up his hand into a fist.

Jonathan closed his eyes. Even with eyes closed, hidden beneath was a promise, a growing hatred that was silent and waiting. It was a smiling loathing that devoured the soul. It was a monstrous passion that swallowed pain, that did not forgive. The fist did not land. But still Jonathan's cold blue eyes held that hungry, laughing hatred that promised to unmake the world. It was hard to say if the bullies understood this terrifying glimpse of inhumanity they held so near.

"Ricky Johnson and Bo Griggs what are you two doing?" A feminine voice called out.

It was a voice that Jonathan had not heard before. He looked up from his wire frame glasses and noticed both "Bo and Ricky" were wearing an expression of magnanimous discomfort. It irritated him that a simple girl could cause the feeling.

"Sarah leave it be. This isn't any of your business." Ricky waved the girl away like a fan waves by the weather.

"You guys are going to get into trouble if you keep wasting your time like this." Sarah was looking over the scene and assessing the damage. There was another boy.

Ricky and Bo really needed to stop picking on everyone that hurt their feelings. It wasn't practical. She had no doubt that Ricky and Bo were more than justified by their actions. To her the skinny boy looked a combination of mean and petty. It still was unbecoming of such big boys to hurt on such a smaller boy. Bo was a hot head and Ricky forgot his size along with most of his table manners at two football players could be overzealous sometimes.

"C'mon Sarah you know we're just messing around. I mean it's not like anyone was hurt. Well you know, badly I mean." Bo reasoned showing off his winning smile. Bo was all white teeth and large muscle. A girl often lost her sensibilities when he put those looks to use.

But he was a fawning sort of attraction that Sarah felt was best interacted with in observance and not in contact. He was, to put things bluntly, a heart breaker. He was officially dating Sherry who was a bit of man mountain climber herself, somehow it all leveled out.

"Yes, but you're going to get caught. And when that happens Sherry will be angry and I'll have to hear why. I'll have no escape as she repeats the story over and over again, eating all my ice cream. So really Bo, you're hurting my happiness and my ice cream supplies."She finished her story quickly twirling around her blond hair with a light smile. Occasionally, she made eye contact with the skinny boy rubbing his lip to pointedly glance at him. She might as well make things clear that this was his lucky day. No more mean old football players to beat on him. This to her surprise caused him to glare harder at her, chilling her thoroughly. He was, by her direct observance, a very cold and cruel person. She imagined his words bit very deeply and were the source of this skirmish to begin with.

"But he needs to learn he can't just say anything he wants." Ricky whined trying to draw the obvious conclusion for Sarah: They were the ones able to teach him this lesson.

In truth, Sarah found it more likely that Ricky had worked Bo into a temper because he was by nature easily bored. Ricky found humor in strange places when he was bored. But Sarah doubted that this was the sort of lesson anyone could ever teach this boy. She did not know why, but she felt this was the sort of boy who held convictions tightly and would later do his own form of teaching when the time came.

"Call it a rain-check then. You can beat him up outside of school later. Get to class or you'll get me in trouble too from Sherry for just ignoring you." She could practically feel the boy with the bloody lip peeling her skin away by the layers. Bo and Ricky may have been trouble makers but this boy had the potential to be worse.

"But…" said Ricky.

"Just get out of here." She spoke evenly hoping to inspire some haste. She was not having Sherry cry on her couch and eat all of her cookie dough chunks out of her ice cream. That was her snack. All of it deliciously hers with the cookie dough pristinely un-mined.

"Alight, c'mon Rick let's leave little miss law and order to her duties" Bo winked, saluting her with a tan arm, Ricky waved pleasantly away at Sarah with a clip in his step, happy for a change in the daily pace.

Sarah turned her attention to the lanky boy who was leaning on a locker with a bloodied chin. Her features were wary as she looked at the careful posture of him. He was clearly in pain, but he was unlikely to attend to his wounds on his own.

He looked at the blond girl carefully, amused at her caution. He was weak; she didn't need to use such decorum. She was friends with the two brutes it seemed and now she was left to clean up their mess. It was ironically stereotypical for her gender. "Just so you know, I don't like you."

She was shocked. He was blunt and filled with meanness. She knew then that she did not want to help him and also that it would not suit her to leave him. He might have concussion or something serious and she found his first assessment irritating. "Are you alright?"

Jonathan slowly lifted his cold blue eyes to meet her warm green eyes. "I am fine." He grounded out wanting nothing more than for her to leave. But before he could retreat into the safety of the bathroom, where he could properly clean his wounds, the girl reached for his shoulder and pulled him into the girl's bathroom.

He felt both a curling mortification and reeling curiosity. He had never been inside a purely female facility; it was sobering.

She pulled at the paper towel dispenser taking from the machine a generous supply of towels. She proceeded to wet them and made the attempt of cleaning his wounds. She neared Crane's jaw line and was soon shoved away, hard, accidentally tripping into the metal egress of a nearby stall. It hurt.

Jonathan felt his heartbeat, thumping inside his chest at a ferocious pace with the closeness between he and this insipid little blond. He felt his breath hitch when his glasses fell to the ground and the little chit fell away from him as he pushed her. "Don't touch me."

She frowned and picked up his glasses, lifting fully off the floor. "Glasses?"

Crane merely stood his ground with his eyes widening in both disbelief and anger as she mockingly shoved his glasses across the bridge of his nose, daring him to shove her back again. He found he wanted to, but did not.

In all his life Jonathan Crane had never been touched for any other purpose besides being hurt. He had never been hugged, kissed, hell even his own grandmother wouldn't shake his hand. Torture had helped him understand he was not meant for affection and he guarded himself accordingly. He still found he wanted to shove her hands away from his face and break the fingers into pieces just to show her he never needed the sort of comfort that he was denied. His thoughts were interrupted when the girl spoke in a voice that sickened him with its wary concern. Pity was revolting.

"Are you okay?"

"As if you care." His voice trailed off as he began to move his aching limbs. As he brought himself into a straighter standing position so he would have a chance to better evaluate his position. The girl had blond hair accompanied by warm green eyes. Her legs were long, her curves were there, and if looks were to go by her head was filled with nothing but air. She was nothing more than another one of the school's hollow masses.

"Well that's unfair of you to say." She pulled her lips together and folded her arms. She seemed displeased by Crane's eye.

"It's really not. All you are concerned about right now is if I'm going to tattle on Brawny Bo, he-who-does-not-know; and Rick, the small headed dip-stick."

Well at least now Sarah knew what had sent Rick and Bo into a wild frenzy. This boy was not one to mince words. In fact he seemed the sort to relish their hard shape and try to egg others on.

"Rest easy. I won't." He was wiping away the blood, not bothering to throw the dirty towels in the trash, allowing them to litter the floor in bloody heaps. The girl was cringing at the site, it was after all a girl's bathroom, not the boy's. He found her expressions amusing as he tossed the crumpled towels nearer to her feet.

She stepped back.

When he felt his image was presentable he dried his hands and reached towards the door. He was leaving.

"Wait." Sarah felt, for reasons beyond her, a need to prolong their meeting. "I have to know. What on earth did you say to them to get them so worked up?" She wanted to know how he had snapped two boys into fighting so plainly in the halls. Sure those idiots fought all the time, but normally it was not so carelessly unplanned.

"It's not about what I said. It was about what I didn't say, what they inferred." He held his position not acknowledging the girl, answering only the air; he was smiling.

Sarah found his smile was frightening. "Oh." She paused. Then she stuck out her hand causing the skinny boy's eyebrows to lift and his curled lip to unfurl; he was not smiling any more. "I'm Sarah Denson by the way." She did not think he would shake her hand.

"I'm Jonathan Crane." He clasped her hand in one sharp movement of his long arm and squeezed. "And if you ever pull me into a girl's bathroom again I assure you it won't be about what I say, but rather what I don't say, what is inferred." He found he did not completely want to shove this girl into a metal stall again, instead he would have settled for squeezing her hand until her joints popped. He liked her by a margin more than he had before, at least he found her discomfort pleasant.

Had anyone else said this Sarah would have been certain they referred to her reputation, her sexual one, but Jonathan Crane clearly spoke his terms with far more seeded unpleasantries. Sarah felt her blood chill as he released her hand and exited the room.


End file.
